Hello everyone, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today we’ll be diving into The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, as we continue the last act of this fascinating production. Last episode saw the self-hating Oscar meet a tragic end, as he found himself impossibly stretched between who he truly was and the person his idol Zenigata thought him to be. Forced to choose between a disappointing reality and a perfect ideal, Oscar embraced the ideal, and sacrificed himself to preserve Zenigata’s image of him as the spotless subordinate.
Oscar’s story serves as a fitting complement to Fujiko’s, as each of them suffer abuse for their inalterable nature, and each of them cloak themselves in the expectations of society in order to hide in plain sight. It is clear enough that Oscar harbored romantic feelings for Zenigata, but felt incapable of admitting to those feelings. As a result, he projected his self-hatred outward as anger at all women, and in particular anger at the woman who had claimed what he could not. As someone whose guiding light embodied civil order and the default expectations of his society, Oscar was doomed to be torn apart, his every step towards Zenigata demanding a further denial of self.
Fujiko, at least, has embraced the option of saying fuck-all to society’s expectations, and living precisely how she pleases. Social expectations are not inarguable guidelines to be minded, but simply limitations that society inflicts on itself; useful for manipulating others, but possessing no greater moral authority. The only restraints binding Fujiko lie within her own mind: the terror of her past, and the fear that her current existence is still defined by that past, if only in reaction to it. As someone who has used every reductive feminine persona in the book to manipulate her prey, I’d consider it somewhat unfortunate if this production ended on the predictable “her personality is a product of her trauma,” but I’ve learned never to underestimate Sayo Yamamoto. Let’s return to the climax of Fujiko Mine!